I woke up this morning and found some interesting drafts of emails open on my computer. I don't know if any actually got sent; so, a blanket explanation as follows:
I was working on thesis pretty much all day Tuesday and yesterday morning and coming up with great steaming piles of monkey dung. When I'm frustrated by that kind of writer's block I tend to go looking for some hard physical labor - my body pleasantly sore and exhausted, I usually have a brain that makes more sense afterwards. Don't know why, but it works.
So, no problem - I have a local co-op where friends live that I'm always happy to help out with things. We were digging new planting beds, getting good progress in. Until I lift the shovel up one extra bit. And dislocated my shoulder - my right one did it once about ten years ago and ever since it'll do it again if you ask nice enough. Still hurts like... well, it's not good. The guys popped it back in - which somehow always hurts worse. And then they gave me an old prescription muscle relaxant for the pain and got me home.
Which can be the only explanation for some of the wacky shit I was apparently writing to people last night.
Moral of the story: always be careful when your buddies at hippie co-ops offer you pain killers.
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